Sunday - 20th September

Yesterday, a beautiful still day we decided to go for a walk in Keldy Forest, did not quite make it as we stopped off to explore a public footpath into another wood, called Spring Wood.  A mixture of old indigenous trees and then the forestry plantations of pine intermingled all along the road to Hutton-le-Hole.  The land is hilly, and sits on rock, as we wandered round there is evidence of small scale quarrying with old trees seemingly growing out of the rock.  Wild flowers are not to be seen in amongst these acid loving trees, though I did find water mint, at one old overgrown quarry.

soft silver-green downy leaves - mint

a path we did not take

The path we did take took us down a small lane leading to Lingmoor Farm, we did not make it to the farm but turned down a rutted forestry path alongside a dry beck.  No blackberries but a wet and muddy trackway which we wandered along for about half a mile, then turned and came back. Rejoining the small lane and exploring the old bridge over the beck, and I decided there must have been a small hamlet round here at one time.  We had come through a small village called Keldholm - the place by the spring/water meadows, which had at one time a priory.... 

Photos only show the green coolness of the woods, a tangle of scattered twigs and branches....

Ferns and nettle in an old quarry

Yesterday a strange hen wandered into our garden, and spent most of the day round our chicken run. as we do not have any more room in the hutch, we had to find the owner.  Well it wasn't Nigel across the road, he guessed that it probably belonged to Nelson, a recluse.  So in the evening we went in search of Nelson.  We knew he lived in a mobile home on  land that belongs to the pub that runs beside the river.  Discovering a gate in what seemed to be  solid fencing, opening it to be greeted by hens, ducks, geese, and Nelson himself.  He came round to get the hen, apparently he had just bought 50 from one of these terrible battery places.  He sells his eggs, and keeps bees as well.  their hives he keeps up on the moors for the nectar from heather, and also sells the honey on an old table just outside the pub. His lifestyle is different, and yet he was a good person, and very chatty.  Apparently a few years ago, his first mobile home burnt down, killing his small dog, and then he built himself a steel enclosed one.  Whilst we worry about finding homes for all the refugees, it is well to remember that other people also do not have permanent homes, they live on the fringes of our society (not paying council tax as a passing neighbour complained) protected to a greater extent by the people around them - thank goodness ;)

Lingmoor Cave or Excalibur Cave